


Together

by golden_gardenias



Series: Gallavich Week 2014 [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Gallavich Week, M/M, Protective!Mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_gardenias/pseuds/golden_gardenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl Gallagher needs definitive proof that his brother is in a relationship with the neighborhood thug, and boy does he get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gallavich Week 2014 Day 1: Together. Originally published on Tumblr 6/16/14.

Despite what everyone thought, Carl Gallagher was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for. Yeah, he was a couple grade levels behind in math, but so what? You only need to know numbers if you’re going to be a drug dealer, and Carl wasn’t planning on that. And yeah, he beat kids up and got in trouble at school, but that wasn’t because he couldn’t understand the consequences of his actions or anything. He understood perfectly.

He just didn’t give a shit.

Carl already had a pretty good understanding of the way the world worked: he knew you had to fight for what you wanted, that sex made babies, that poor people made money by stealing and scamming, and that you help the people you love, no matter what.

Which was why Ian and Mickey’s relationship confused him so much.

He _knew_ they were together, but he didn’t have any proof. They didn’t act _in love_ like all the other couples he’d seen. They weren’t texting each other all the time and giggling like Debbie was with her boyfriend. They weren’t like Fiona and Jimmy-Steve, always touching and kissing. They weren’t like Lip and Karen or Lip and Mandy, fucking all the time. Hell, they didn’t even hold hands like he and Bonnie did. He’d tried to talk to each of them about it, but they’d either brush him off or give him cryptic answers, which frustrated him to no end.

So naturally, he’d decided to spy on them.

It was more difficult than he’d anticipated, since they were always awake before him, but he managed to figure out their schedules and find the right vantage points to observe their interactions. Ian got up at 6:00 to go jogging, and Mickey got up at 7:30 to make him breakfast for when he got back. They would eat together, Ian would take his pills, they would shower together--to conserve water, they always said--get dressed, then pretty much do whatever they felt like doing.

Carl resented having to get up before 8:00, but this was important, so he figured he would live. He crept down the stairs when he heard dishes moving around, staying in the middle so he could watch Mickey without being seen. Today he was making omelettes for the two of them. He didn’t think cooking counted, since Fiona always cooked for them, with Lip and Ian occasionally filling in. It wasn’t that big a deal. It didn’t prove anything.

He didn’t realize he’d nodded off until Ian came through the kitchen door.

“Hey,” he said. Carl could hear the smile in his voice.

“Hey,” Mickey responded gruffly. “You’re late, man.”

“What?” Ian glanced at the microwave for the time, took in the fact that Mickey was already sitting at the table, plates fixed, complete with orange juice in their glasses. “Oh. Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Sunrise again?” Mickey teased.

“Nah, I went to that building we set up my obstacle course on.”

Mickey tensed, watching Ian carefully. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

Ian shrugged, pulling off his jacket. “I don’t know, just...thinking.”

Mickey sighed, and Carl wasn’t sure what had settled into the air between them. “You know you shouldn’t dwell on that shit, Gallagher.”

“How can I not, Mick? It was the only thing I was good at, it was...it was my fucking dream, man, and I fucked it all up.” The sadness in Ian’s voice made Carl want to hug him.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” Mickey said. “It’s not your fault you had a mental breakdown. You couldn’t control yourself, alright?”

Ian was silent.

“And fuck you for thinking the only thing you’re good at is army shit.”

Ian snorted. “Are you my motivational speaker, now?”

“Ay, fuck you, asshole,” he laughed. “I’m just saying, you got other options.”

“Yeah? Like what, shaking my ass for ‘geriatric viagroids?’”

Mickey gave him a look. “Sure, you’re a good fighter and a good shot, but there’s more to you than that. You’re a good bartender, you’re a good cook, you’re good with kids. You care about people, man.”

Ian gave Mickey a small smile. “Thanks, Mick.”

Mickey rolled his eyes at him. “Eat your fucking eggs, douchebag, they’re getting cold.” They settled into an easy silence, eating their food. Mickey handed Ian his pills as soon as he finished and watched him take them. “Shower?” he asked, smirking.

Ian grinned back at him. “Shower.” Carl hurried back upstairs before they could see him. He thought over their conversation while he laid in bed listening the the shower run. Mickey seemed so...different when he talked to Ian. He was sincere, almost...gentle. As gentle as a Milkovich could be, at any rate.

 

* * *

 

Watching Ian and Mickey watch TV was more boring than the show they were watching, so he’d given up on that pretty quickly. When Ian announced that his shift started soon and stood up to leave, Mickey did too, which he thought was odd. “Are you guys working at the Kash and Grab again?” he asked.

“No, I’m still working at that club,” Ian answered.

“Oh. Does Mickey work there too?”

Ian snickered. “No, he just follows me everywhere. But he could probably get a job as a bouncer.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “I’m not bouncing for those fairies. And fuck you, I don’t follow you everywhere.”

Ian laughed as Mickey stormed out of the house. “See ya, Carl! Tell Fiona I won’t get in til about 1, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Carl said absently. His only concern was changing the channel.

 

It was closer to 2 when they finally walked through the front door, laughing and smiling. Carl was laying on the couch under a blanket, watching some movie about a kid who dies and haunts his classmate. The main guy even kinda looked like Ian.

“Fuck you, man, I was not flirting,” Mickey scowled. “I was having a conversation.”

Ian laughed. “Well that guy was _definitely_ flirting. He fucking _fluttered his eyelashes_ at you.”

“He had something in his eye, alright?” Ian shook his head.

“He was trying to get you into bed,” he teased.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “So what if he was?” he asked, sidling up to Ian with a suggestive glint in his eye. Ian’s eyes clouded over with something Carl so did not want to see. He pressed himself closer to the cushions, hoping to disappear. “You’re the one I went home with, aren’t you?” Mickey finished.

Ian grabbed his waist and pulled him closer. “And I better be the only one,” he said jokingly. Both Carl and Mickey could tell he was being serious.

Mickey quirked his eyebrows. “Why don’t you show me why I passed him up for you, then, huh?” Ian growled and they practically ran up the stairs.

Carl stayed downstairs that night, trying not to picture Mickey fucking his brother or his brother fucking Mickey or whatever they did with their gay weiners.

At least now he knew they were definitely fucking.

 

* * *

 

Ian didn’t get up to go jogging the next morning.

He assured them all that he was fine, that it was just an off day, but that didn’t stop Debbie and Fiona’s nervous hovering or Mickey’s ever-watchful eyes. He still ate, still took his pills on time, was still talking to them, so Carl believed him when he said he was fine.

But he still hid the knife Ian had given him, just to be safe.

 

Frank paid them a visit that night, saying he was only making a pit stop to use the bathroom before heading out with some friends. The downstairs toilet had been giving them some trouble recently, so he went upstairs.

Mickey and Carl were sitting on the couch, watching _The Expendables_. Debbie was doing homework in the kitchen while Fiona made dinner, chatting idly about their respective days. Liam was flipping through a Dr. Seuss book, absorbed in the illustrations.

They all stopped when they heard Ian yell. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

Exchanging looks, Fiona grabbed Liam before they went upstairs to see what was going on.

Ian was standing in the bathroom doorway, glaring at Frank. Frank was holding one of Ian’s pill bottles. It was open, and four of the pills were in Frank’s open palm.

“Put them back,” Ian ordered, voice hard.

“I just need a little pocket change, that’s all! I can pass them off as Oxi, they won’t know the difference--”

“I need them, Frank. Put them back.” He walked into the bathroom, crowding him.

Frank squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t tell me what to do. It’s high time you kids learned some _respect_. Not even welcome in my own home! And you--you’re not even my kid!” he laughed. “I’ll do whatever I damn well please, you little bastard.” He pushed Ian roughly, the force of it sending him stumbling into the bathtub, grabbing the curtain to keep himself from falling but only ripping it down with him. His head banged against the spout when he landed.

Mickey moved so quickly and fluidly that Carl almost missed it.

In a flash, the pills were out of Frank’s hands and Frank was up against the wall, Mickey’s forearm pressing against his throat.

Carl had never seen the murderous look in his eyes before.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch him again, do you understand me?” he said dangerously. Frank’s eyes were wide with fear. “Don’t touch him, don’t touch his pills, and we won’t have a problem. If you ever make him bleed again, I guarantee you we will, and you don’t want that, Frank. I _promise you_ you don’t.”

Mickey’s stare was hard and unblinking. Frank nodded frantically, gasping for air. “I--I promise,” he wheezed out.

Mickey pressed harder for a few more seconds before releasing him. “Get out,” he commanded.

Frank scrambled to obey him, coughing. Mickey kicked him in the ass as he moved, yelling “And stay out!” to his retreating back. As soon as they heard the door slam he turned to Ian, ignoring Debbie and Fiona crouched beside him. “You good?” he asked.

Ian had an amazed look in his eyes. “Yeah,” he beamed. “I’m fine.”

Mickey nodded. “Good. Let’s get you some ice.” The three of them helped Ian stand and Mickey held his wrist as they walked downstairs. Carl followed with his sisters, watching silently as Mickey wiped Ian’s still-bleeding cut and pressed a bag of frozen peas to it.

“You didn’t have to do that, Mickey,” he said softly.

“Fuck off. What am I supposed to do, let people hurt you?”

“I can take care of myself.”

Mickey rolled his eyes affectionately. “I know that. Just...let me take care of you sometimes too, alright?”

The look they shared answered all of Carl’s questions: they were _definitely_ together.

And Ian was totally the one taking the weiner.


End file.
